Lemonade Summer
by Jezebel Malice
Summary: [oneshot] Hermione used to visit the burrow every summer, but on the last summer everything changed. (angst, femmeslash: minds on fire)


(A/n: Yeah, so this is a Hermione POV. To those who know me well this will be kinda different. I tend to write what I know, but this fic is entirely fictional, instead of having a basic real life plotline. Also, this is a lot more angst filled than usual. I hope you all enjoy!)

DISCLAMER: I do not own the Harry Potter characters or imaginary places. They are owned and created by J.K. Rowling, published by Scholastic Books Inc, Bloomsbury Books Inc, Raincoat Books Inc, Warner Brothers Inc, and others. No money is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.

WARNINGS: Femmeslash, Ginny with hazel eyes, Mild language, Character death, War/post war

Lemonade Summer

Ginny was a sweet girl. She was less innocent than she liked to let on, if she was innocent to begin with. She ran around in cotton dresses and made lemonade. Every summer I would go and visit. She would greet me with a hug the moment I fell onto the hearth of the fireplace. I always looked forward to that moment. A hug and her smiling face. I especially looked forward to making lemonade with her.

On hot summer days we would walk to the river; me with my book and she with her pink bikini. We would find a secluded spot along the shallow bank. It was usually the same spot. It surrounded by trees and bushes, yet the sun would shine in the small clearing, just for us. I would lie and read in the soft grass, which smelled of the morning's dew. She would wade in the cool water and attempt to coax me in with her. I only scoffed and looked back down at my book.

On a few occasions she managed to get me to come in with her. I would walk in up to my knees, because I had not worn my bathing suit. It didn't matter to her. Before long she would have pulled me in up to my waist and clung to me until I was forced to submerge myself in order to get her off of me. She'd smile that brilliant smile and splash me, since I was already wet. There was no way I could be mad at her for long. We laughed and splashed, and my stomach did back flips when her slick skin met mine.

There were a few reasons why I was weary of joining her in the river. One; the undercurrent, two; again, my lack of bathing suit, three; I did not wish to leave my book unattended, and four; she makes me bloody nervous. It isn't that she is a danger. Not really anyway. When ever we are close I get gooseflesh, and being in the water with her almost naked does not help.

I suppose now you are asking, "What the fuck are you talking about Granger?" Well, I'm saying I fancied the red and golden goddess, Ginny. As a matter of fact, I still do, but we haven't reached that part of the story yet.

Anyway, the worst part about swimming with her was getting out of the water. My clothes formed to me uncomfortably and my hair was going to be frizzy once dry. It got worse yet; her porcelain skin was slick and had beads of water running down her body. One could also not fail to notice how cold she was at an 'accidental' glance to her chest. I felt guilty in those days, looking at her how I did.

Usually after a trip to the river we would make lemonade together. Not that instant crap that they sell at the supermarket, and we didn't use magic either. We had real lemons to squeeze, and we knew just the right amount of sugar and water to add.

As we worked, the juice would drip all over us. I recall one day in particular. She wore a green cotton dress. It made her hazel eyes shift toward the green color for the day. She was standing next to me in the kitchen. Sweat and juice were pouring down our bodies. Her dress clung to her breasts and back. I could tell she wasn't wearing her knickers, because her dress was also clinging to her lower back, where you would usually see the top of them. She caught me staring and smiled at me, knowingly. I blushed and looked away, and I continued squeezing the yellow citrus fruit.

She gave me those knowing smiles a lot. Sometimes I wonder if she was toying with me, just because she could. That isn't like her though. Although, maybe she still fancied Harry then. I doubt it. I don't think she was toying with me, though it felt like it at such times.

When we would finish adding the sugar she used to stick her finger in the pitcher and then lick it, just to test. But she didn't just lick her finger; she put it between those perfect pink lips and withdrew it slowly, sensuously, and very deliberately. I would squirm in the spot I was standing and pray for the strength and dignity to look away. It turned out in those moments that I had neither. She knew what she was doing. She knew exactly what she was doing.

At night she would ask me to come off the floor and sleep in her bed with her. She would say, oh-so sweetly, "Hermione, love, it's awfully cold, you should sleep with me." As if that wasn't teasing enough; when I would crawl into her bed she would curl against me and nuzzle me until she fell asleep. I'd lay there, tired, confused, and slightly aroused. In fact, I would wake up with my knickers slightly dampened from the arousal, but I'm sure you didn't need to know that.

Sometime late in the last summer I spent at the burrow, just after I had graduated, she had asked me to sleep with her. This time she didn't mean 'sleep with' as 'sleep in the same bed', she meant as in 'have sex with me'. Of course I thought she meant the former opposed to the latter. So I crawled in her bed, as I had many years and many times before. She curled into my, just as she used to, but instead of nuzzling me, she kissed me. Can you even imagine my surprise? I had been lusting after this girl for many years; four to be exact, and finally, out of nowhere, she kisses me. I about went into cardiac arrest. When her lips late mine go I gasped for air.

"Are you okay, Hermione?" she asked. There was no teasing in her voice.

I sat for a moment, not sure what to make of it.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have done that."

I laid in shock the rest of the night. I suppose I made her feel bad, because she rolled over and didn't make any contact with me for the rest of the night. What was I doing? I was blowing the one chance I had with this girl. She obviously wanted me, but I froze.

The next morning it was if it never happened, but she still gave me subtle hints. Well, I suppose they really are more blatant than subtle, but whatever. When we went down to the river she pulled me in, no problem. I had even left my usual leafed companion in the house. We returned home laughing and dripping all over the house. Ron, my once best friend, looked at us like we were bloody fools. It only made us laugh harder.

After we adorned ourselves in some dry garments, we began our lemonade ritual. She wore her usual cotton dress, just like when she was younger. I was a deer in the headlights because the dress was white. Near the end of it we were sweating, because the temperature had reached high degrees that day. As per usual her dress clung to her. I could see her freckles through the thin wet garment. I couldn't help but stare. I noted once again that she was not wearing panties. When I looked up she caught my gaze and winked at me. After we poured in the sugar she dipped her finger in, but this time she held it out to me.

"Well, go on," she urged her digit forward.

I took it into my mouth, tasting the sweet nectar. I enjoyed it thoroughly. As did she, but the look of contentment on her face as I was sucking in the tip of her finger. She gave a soft moan as my lips pulled away. We stood for a moment.

"Just the right amount of sweet," I stated.

"Are you sure?" She asked, probing the liquid again.

I took her finger in my mouth, but this time it was a brief visit. She looked disappointed. I licked my lips, making them glisten with the sweet juice we had just finish making. "I think it needs a second opinion," I said. Surprisingly seductive, I might add.

She kissed me. It was soft, slow, and gentile. Only for a moment though. Then she pulled back, just looking into my eyes, searching for something. Whether she found what she was looking for or not, our lips came crashing together. It was frantic, hungry and urgent. Urgent is the proper word for it. It didn't take long before we were tripping up the stairs, randomly pressing one another up against a wall for a quick snog, and then unceremoniously stumbling up another flight. It took ten minutes, but we made it to Ginny's room.

She pulled my tee shirt over my head and my shorts down, right as we walked in. I wrapped my arms around her sweaty body and held her tight as I gave her a kiss she wouldn't soon forget. It felt like she turned into a puddle in my arms. We stood for a moment, I in my skivvies and she in her white cotton summer dress. Suddenly, she took a step back and pulled her dress over her head. I gaped at her body. She had a kind of broad, boyish build, but there was something so feminine about her, it made you want to paint her in her most natural state. She smiled at me coyly, but then grinned maliciously. She pounced, pushing me back on the bed. She hastily removed the last physical barriers on my body, discarding them to the floor.

The time we spent in her room that day was amazing. Everything was quiet. My head was swimming and it felt like my body was too. I could feel the warmth of her hand and mouth against me ever so slightly. So very soft. My body was moving to its own desires, faster and faster. Then there was a great explosion and I couldn't will myself to think, I could barely breathe. She held me tightly for a moment. After the haze in my head cleared I kissed her, passionately. I soon began to touch her in the same manner as she had done to me. Her body writhed in time with my motions and she cried out loud when her body began to shudder. After a moment her heart beat was level and the gasping has stopped.

We laid there a while, drifting in and out of thoughtless sleep. I awoke sometime that evening, with my head on her shoulder. I nudged her, but she only wrapped her arms around me tighter and sighed a contented sigh. I nudged her again.

"Ginny," I whispered. "It must be time for supper."

She whined at me and pulled the blankets over her head.

"Well, you can whine, but I'm getting dressed," I firmly said, stepping out of her bed.

She pulled the covers down, just so I could see her pout, "But you're so warm and soft. Why are you getting up?"

I smiled. "I'll sleep in your bed with you tonight and keep you warm, if you come down to dinner. Please, Gin." It was my turn to pout. Naturally, she obliged and dressed.

At supper her mother commented us on our lemonade. It had just the right amount of sweet.

We grinned inwardly. A second opinion really helps.

---

I didn't count on it to last. Of course when the war was in full force we stole a bed together as often as possible. In dark times it's all you can do to feel at home somewhere. I felt at home in the thrill of her sex, the scent of her skin, the coloring in her eyes. I felt most at home when we would lay naked together, just holding one another.

We knew morning would come and we would have to go and fight, for the good of the world. Because of the inevitability of death, no words of promise and love were ever exchanged, just the place and time of the next rendezvous. I'll admit that I did love her. As I said before, I still do.

The war is long over, and there is only a third of the Weasley family left. Ron isn't one of them. Harry is also deceased, obviously. Ron and I weren't on very good terms when he died, but I was the one who held him in those last moments, as Harry sacrificed himself to defeat the dark lord.

After it was all over, Ginny and I stood in the middle of the battlefield. Faces of the dead contorted in pain, just as they were when they died. We had each other to live for, nothing else was left. We tried to live and be happy, but haunting dreams and memories overwhelmed at every hour. We tried to be normal. She tried to be happy. It just wasn't an option her and some of the other survivors. She says that death is better than the pain of remembering the lost.

I brewed the potion myself. I handled the deadly ingredients carefully and stirred them together to make the poison broth. She drank hers and is sleeping peacefully eternally. She'll never know how hard it was for me to give it to her, but I couldn't watch the suffering anymore..

My time will come soon enough. I'll go mad and kill myself as well, but until then I won't forget that summer. I won't forget that first shred of innocence being shed between those sheets. I wont forget the feelings she had stirred inside of me. I won't forget my lemonade summer, with the red and golden goddess.

(A/n: I really liked how it turned out. Let me know what you think!)

Jezebel Malice, the shameless tease


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